


fill my lungs with the sound

by wearthesun



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, s06e16, season 6, warning: blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8015098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearthesun/pseuds/wearthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't the end. Not yet. It couldn't be.<br/>He tried to stay awake by focusing on his breathing, not the pain. On the weak light, not the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fill my lungs with the sound

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (short) insight into Daryl's head in the last episode of season 6, just before Negan comes into play.  
> Ttile is from Hunger - Of Monsters and Men.  
> (side note: English is not my native language. Please don't hesitate to let me know if you spot any mistake.)

He refused to be afraid. He wouldn't be.

Not even when the bullet bit his flesh and tore under his skin, causing an all too familiar pain that exploded in his whole body. Blood was everywhere like a red river flowing from his veins. He couldn't scream, couldn't get enough air in his lungs, couldn't even hear anything. For an excruciating second, agonizing pain was everything, all there was, his entire world. Nothing else.

Then darkness.

He didn't see the light again.

He refused to be afraid. He couldn't be.

Not even when he woke up in a dark hole, his arm numb from the pain, the pain again, it wouldn't go away. He tried to move his arm, his hand, found he couldn't. He felt something over his body – a blanket, something covering him. He heard muffled, weak, scared breathing. He didn't say a word and neither did his friends. At least he knew he wasn't alone. He wanted them safe, out of here, but a selfish part of him was glad he didn't have to go through this – whatever it was – by himself. Weak light shone through tiny holes. Not daylight, the sun was long gone.

Consciousness came and went. Nothing changed. Still pain, still silence, that same weak light stabbing his tired eyes. His brain was too exhausted to think and he was grateful. He didn't want false hope, useless rescue scenarios. He'd find a way out, sooner or later, he knew that. They all would.

They always did.

This wasn't the end. Not yet. It couldn't be.

He tried to stay awake by focusing on his breathing, not the pain. On the weak light, not the darkness.

Hours passed. At least that's what he estimated. Could have been minutes. Days. Long enough for those thoughts to crawl their way into his brain, no matter how hard he tried to fight them.

He refused to be afraid. This wasn't the end.

Daryl wanted to live.

Countless times now he'd almost met his end. Dozens. Hundreds. He couldn't even remember them all. He always felt different towards it. Lots of times, he'd have welcomed it. Other times he feared it. Many times he thought he'd be gone for good. Sooner rather than later, he would anyway. He never really expected anything else.

This time, though, this time was strange. He had a horrible feeling, something crawling under his skin, tearing up his insides. An awful knot in his gut. Something was coming. Something bad. Something _worse_.

He could feel it.

He refused to be afraid. _I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid_ , he repeated in his head, like a chant, a mantra.

The door opened.

His chant ended.

 


End file.
